


Untitled Natasha x Agent-in-Training!Reader

by shesaidnomaam



Series: Natasha Romanoff x Agent-in-Training Reader [2]
Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agent-in-Training Reader, F/F, Reader-Insert, SHIELD Agent Reader (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28171326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shesaidnomaam/pseuds/shesaidnomaam
Summary: This is a follow up to, "...if you sing another goddamn Christmas carol."You’ve been assigned another field lesson with Agent Romanoff. This time you have to learn about blending in while sitting across from the woman who lives rent-free in your head.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov (Marvel) & Reader, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Natasha Romanoff x Agent-in-Training Reader [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063754
Comments: 28
Kudos: 109





	1. Figure Out Who You Want to Be

  * This is a sequel to a **[previous request](https://shesaidnomaam.tumblr.com/post/637576217280823296/hi-i-hope-youre-doing-well-may-i-request-natasha).**

* * *

It had taken a good deal of effort to avoid looking too excited when reading your training schedule. Surely it was okay to be glad that you were going to be trained by someone so talented and accomplished as Natasha, but something had told you not to appear as eager as you had been.

You knew that you probably wouldn’t get many opportunities to be partnered with Natasha. She was something of a legend and she was sent on missions that you couldn’t even fathom. So you’d have to absorb as much of her knowledge as possible in your short time together.

Sitting across from her in a diner hadn’t felt like the best use of the Black Widow’s abilities, but Natasha seemed dedicated to educating you. It made you wonder if she’d been this good and open with everyone. You wanted to feel cocky, but you hadn’t the evidence to do so.

“Can I eat?” you asked, as you looked down at your plate skeptically. You missed the way Natasha considered you with a small smile, finding your trepidation to be amusing.

“Why couldn’t you eat it?”

Your mouth opened, but no words left your throat. Why couldn’t you eat it? You looked up to see Natasha waiting for your response with a cat-like grin. She wouldn’t offer you a lifeline, you needed to formulate your own thoughts. Perhaps it was a test to see how you would respond, though you got a sense that Natasha enjoyed seeing you squirm and put your foot in your mouth.

You should have just put the food in your mouth. Her gaze made you warm.

“I mean, you said,” you leaned forward, and to your surprise, Natasha did too, meeting you in the middle of the table. “You said to assume I’m always being watched, so I thought that…” you searched her eyes, begging the woman to read your mind or at least get the general idea of where you were headed. You didn’t need to be a telepath to know that she intended on no such thing. “If I’m always being watched, how do I know I’m not being poisoned.”

Natasha winked at you, and it felt like a firecracker had gone off in your gut. It was a slight burst of sharp electricity that settled as quickly as it arose. You watched as the woman leaned back in her chair. She picked a French fry from her plate, holding eye contact. “That’s a good question,” she said before popping the fry into her mouth.

You followed her lead and began to eat with a sheepish grin. If you were sheepish because you liked the hint of compliment in Natasha’s voice or the way she’d winked, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter, you couldn’t stop yourself anyhow. You made another mental note to work on controlling your facial muscles.

“If you’re going to eat, make sure you know where you are first. Try to pick something familiar, even if it’s not the most appetizing. Pick something you’ve tasted a lot. When you get your plate, look at it.” Natasha nodded to your plate. “We’re in a diner, and that’s clearly been taken off the grill and slung onto your plate. It shows that the line cook wanted it out of the kitchen as quickly as possible. Diners are rarely known for their presentation, so that fits the expectation. If it came out looking perfect, that would be suspicious.”

“So,” you started slowly, “perfection is suspicious?”

“Isn’t it always? Nothing is perfect, certainly not diner food. Perfection is a carefully crafted facade.”

“That’s kind of poetic,” you said, feeling your lips twitch into a small smile.

Natasha didn’t respond in kind, choosing instead to roll her eyes, though you sensed she wasn’t truly annoyed. Perhaps a bit bashful, you knew she didn’t talk too much. She probably didn’t get a lot of compliments on her speech. You wondered if she got many compliments at all. From what you’d gathered, other people at SHIELD were never quite sure of how to approach Natasha. Only those closest to her seemed to have her figure out, to some extent, you thought.

“Just remember it,” Natasha instructed, sidestepping your compliment entirely. You nodded in response.

You remembered as you had remembered that you were always being watched. Natasha had told you to assume because whether or not the person watching was bad, you still had to keep your wits about you.

“And you need to figure out who you want to be,” Natasha continued, pointing another fry at you. She studied you for a moment before she realized that you took her words more philosophically than she intended. She shook her head as if you’d spoken. “You’ve got to find your group.”

“My group?” you asked. You hated the way you sounded so out of your depth. You were intelligent, you had training already, but field training was an entirely different animal. Though you were grateful for Natasha’s tutelage, your desire to impress the woman meant that you embarrassed by your lack of knowledge.

But she wasn’t judging you, it was obvious in the way she replied without missing a beat, her expression unchanged. There was no patronizing tone to her voice as she spoke, another testament to her professionalism, you thought.

“Mhm,” Natasha confirmed, “you want to fit in, but that’s hard to do when you don’t have something or someone in mind.” She nodded to a pair of suit-clad men at the counter. “Business people, an easy group to blend in with if you’re in a big city like this. Small town, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. If you’re by a university, you’ve got a lot of options. Academic types rarely arouse suspicion. People in a uniform, janitorial or maintenance staff, if you can find a uniform, take it. If SHIELD can provide one, they will, but you need to know what to do if you’re alone and things are quiet.”

You watched the way Natasha’s hair fell forward like a trickling stream. You had been listening, and you hoped she realized that as you were unable to keep your eyes from the agent.

“Don’t dress to keep suspicion off you, you’ll only draw more attention to yourself. Dress with a purpose.”

“How do you know that?” you asked, immediately regretting challenging the agent whose exploits were legendary. Of course, she knew, you shouldn’t have requested confirmation. You wanted to take it back.

“I’m looking at you,” Natasha replied flatly.

You weren’t sure what she meant as you glanced down at your attire. You were wearing understated clothes, nothing flashy but you didn’t want to look like a slob.

“What’s wrong with me?”

Natasha laughed softly through her nose, her tongue peeking out to lick her top lip. “It’s not that anything’s wrong, but you are the same as you always are.”

You could feel your eyebrows shifted like they were magnets pulled together. “Yeah?” you said, wondering what issue she took with your typical presentation. The idea that Natasha, a person who always seemed right, thought that you appeared wrong was like swallowing a rock. You could feel a thump in your stomach, a dull ache at the prospect.

Sensing she needed to elaborate, Natasha continued. “You don’t want to look like you,” she said. “You don’t want to go to the same places you’d usually go, look the way you usually do because they can remember you. A cover is more than just a lie you tell people when you introduce yourself. You need to be someone else, walk like someone else, talk like someone else, but you need to know who that person is.”

It was the most Natasha had ever said to you. It was the most you’d seen her say to anyone, not that you watched her, much. She was being thorough and patient, a true mentor. It almost made you feel guilty for admiring the way her lips fitted around her straw. Almost, you were still being respectful. You didn’t allow your eyes to linger for too long.

Her voice was confident, but you could tell that she wanted to reach you. Natasha wanted to inform you so that you were empowered in the field.

You appreciated it, you really did, but when Natasha looked past you at the front door - a viewpoint she insisted on having - you couldn’t help but follow the lines of her face. Everything from the perfect slope of her nose to her cheekbones, and down to her jaw seemed like it had been designed not grown naturally. People didn’t come out like that. No one you’d met matched Natasha’s extreme level of beauty.

Then, as if you had no filter whatsoever, you spit out exactly what you were thinking. “How does someone like you blend in?”

Her line of sight changed again, her eyes fixing to yours with an expression you couldn’t quite place. You wondered if you’d offended her.

“Someone like me?” she asked. “Meaning?”

Then it appeared again, the taunting catlike grin you’d come to imagine at the most inappropriate of times. She wanted to watch you dig yourself into a hole.

“Well, you…” You should have eaten your food. You should have sat at the table with your professional mentor and eaten your damn food. “You’re not exactly typical.”

She knew what you meant, she had to know, but she still pressed you. “Typical in what way? I’m in an average height bracket.”

The skin on the back of your neck began to prickle up towards your ears. You were being toyed with, and try as you might, you didn’t hate it. “I mean that you’re not average looking.”

You weren’t sure if your tone would read as a compliment, and you didn’t want it to. If Natasha knew that you were knee-deep in a crush, she might get you assigned to someone else. You had already sat through other training, and no one offered as much as Natasha. Regardless of how effortlessly stunning she was, she had valuable information that you needed to be successful. Wasting such an opportunity was not something you wanted to do, so you needed to play it cool lest you be dropped unceremoniously.

“Gee, thanks,” Natasha said, her words covered with a sardonic glaze.

You were quick to correct her impression, despite preemptively deciding it was a bad idea. “Well, you are beautiful,” you admitted. Your voice was innocent enough and thankfully, it gave very little indication that you had fantasized about the agent several times. You were just stating the obvious, it didn’t have to mean that you had anything other than a healthy and professional level of appreciation for your coworker and mentor.

She studied you again and you tried your damndest not to buckle under her gaze. You wondered if she was going to bother pretending like it wasn’t true, but she remained silent. Good, you thought, if she denied it, you would have jumped in to further cement your point - which you would have hated of course.

“Everyone can blend in if they try,” she said finally.

The lunch continued with Natasha dropping more pearls of wisdom. She would slyly gesture to other restaurant patrons, using them as examples as she gave you the tips and tricks of your new trade. Natasha took her time, making sure she felt that you understood her every word. ‘Lucky’ wasn’t fitting enough a word to describe how you felt. You knew that Natasha didn’t choose to train you or take you out for fieldwork, she’d been assigned to you. Still, you couldn’t help but hope that she was glad to be mentoring you as opposed to someone else. Surely it was only vain if you said it out loud.

She paid at the counter and you watched her interact with the cashier. You noticed that she tipped generously, a new fact you could mull over when you were alone.

“Before we go,” Natasha started as she neared you. She leaned in close to whisper into your ear. “Find the other agent in this diner.”

You knew your eyes had widened, you couldn’t help it. The thought that someone had been watching you make eyes at Agent Romanoff caused your chest to tighten.

“Come on,” Natasha said softly, encouraging and still incredibly close. “You can figure it out.”

You looked from eyes to her lips as she spurred you on with a smile. Tearing your eyes away, you began to scan the diner. What was the point, you wondered. If you were being watched by an agent, they weren’t going to be obvious.

But you didn’t want to let your mentor down.

There were single patrons at the counter, some at small tables. Couples were scattered in booths, mostly by the window. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. You thought back to what Natasha had taught you. You needed to see who didn’t blend in.

Then you saw him. A man was sitting at a small table by the window near the door. He was in a black button-down shirt that was tucked into black jeans. It clashed, but it was the worn sneakers that really caught your eye. Button-down shirt, jeans, tennis shoes at a diner, something felt off. Deciding to trust your gut, you nodded towards him. Natasha followed your gaze.

Her smile sent your heart aflutter.

“Thatta girl,” she said.

As you both left the diner, you heard Natasha speak to the man near the door. “You had to wear those fucking sneakers, Kivitz?”

The lesson over, you anticipated Natasha’s dismissal, but you were surprised to see her walk in the opposite direction of the transport van.

“Don’t we have to get back?” you asked, hoping she didn’t notice how you trailed after her like a puppy.

“Not until we figure out who you want to be,” she answered with a playful raise of her brow.

Saying nothing in response, you followed, certain that the corners of your mouth would ache by the end of the day.





	2. Know Who You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were told to meet Agent Romanoff in a random training room. You were given no further information. Typically this would have concerned you, but you weren’t going to leave Natasha waiting, not when you’d been idly waiting to be called upon again.

SHIELD had a lot of rooms with an undisclosed purpose. So when you were scheduled to meet with Agent Romanoff in one of those rooms, you hadn’t even a spark of an idea as to what you would find. You certainly didn’t foresee a room that was fairly bare apart from mirrored walls.

Natasha was already waiting, you hoped she hadn’t waited long. Being late was unbecoming, and above that, Natasha didn’t deserve a tardy mentee. She likely had a workload the size of Fury’s desk, you wouldn’t dare waste her time.

“I can’t tell if it’s more like an intense dance studio, or a funhouse hall of mirrors,” you mused as you looked at Natasha in the mirror. Instantly you felt odd communicating with her reflection, so you spun on the balls of your feet to look at the woman like you were a person with home training.

“It serves a similar purpose,” Natasha replied. “You need to work on your form, specifically altering it.” She wasted no time.

“I thought I’d get makeup and prosthesis.”

“Sometimes, but you still need to know how to carry yourself like you’re a different person. And the key to doing that is to know who you are first.”

“There’s your poetry,” you responded with a nervous flutter in your throat. “Sounds deep.”

“It could be,” she figuratively sidestepped the entire compliment and began directing your attention to the mirror. “This is a mirror that’s going to record and then project your appearance as a 3D model. You’ll be able to see how you walk, stand, and move from multiple angles.”

You caught the way your face fell in the wall across from you. Something about looking at a projected model of yourself seemed surreal even before it happened. It almost seemed wrong and you weren’t sure why. Natasha must have sensed or seen your trepidation.

“Everyone takes a moment to get used to it.” She offered an assuring smile, and you knew that she was being honest. “But it’s really valuable insight that you can use to protect yourself in the field.”

You jumped ahead, already accepting Natasha’s words as gospel. “When will I get my advanced combat training?”

The abruptness of your question caught Natasha off guard and for a moment you thought she was going to tell you off for the shift in conversation. Then, she smiled with her lips closed, and an eyebrow raised as if she was holding back a larger grin. “Didn’t you _just_ pass basic?” she asked.

“Well,” you started, “yeah.” You hated that you could see the reflection of your shoulders folding in on you. Quickly, you fixed your posture.

Natasha noticed and nodded towards your reflection. She held your eye in the mirror. “See, you have to be aware of what you’re doing and how you’re presenting yourself whether you can see yourself or not.”

Agent Romanoff stepped backward and looked up toward the ceiling. Your eyes followed and you saw that there was nothing to be seen. You wondered what you missed. Then, as Natasha began calling out a program code, you realized, she was directing her attention to wherever the microphone was above you. It was completely unnecessary, and that made you smile. You liked remembering that she was a person, and people did unnecessary things.

Caught up in what you were seeing, you completely blocked out what you were hearing. So when the lights began to dim, you were confused. Natasha seemed unfazed, this prompted you to relax slightly. All of the mirrors faded to black, leaving the room in complete darkness. There was something unsettling about not being able to see the parameters of the room. You knew the room wasn’t big, you’d _seen_ it, but in the darkness, you felt as though you were surrounded by a vast sea of _nothing_.

Suddenly the expansive sea of black was replaced with a blinding burst of light. A cityscape was projected all around you, like a virtual reality field trip to Time’s Square New York.

The light projections weren’t incredibly lifelike as they approached you, SHIELD wasn’t wasting their best tech on this particular training program, but it was awesome nonetheless. Natasha was illuminated once more and you found that she’d moved closer in the darkness. How she’d been able to navigate in the absence of light, you didn’t know.

“I’ve told them it’s too bright, but they never change it.” Natasha disappeared directly behind you, but you could feel her gaze at your back. “Walk as you usually do, imagine you’re on the street,” the agent instructed.

In one singular flash of a moment, you forgot how to walk. How _did_ you usually walk, you thought. You began to realize that you’d never considered how little thought you put into walking, yet you did it **all** the time. Everyone was on autopilot, weren’t they?

“Focus on a point in the projection,” Nat directed. “Pick something, focus, see only that, and walk to it.”

“What if I walk into the wall?”

“I won’t let you.” Natasha’s words were spoken with a cool confidence that was assuring.

With a deep breath, you found a spot, a billboard for a musical you hadn’t heard of. The projection was either older than you were or a complete fabrication. You’d need to ask later, the curiosity would eat at you as if the advertisements were the coolest and most interesting parts of the training display.

You walked forward, wanting to stand underneath the billboard. Surprisingly, the projection began to shift as you did, making it feel as though you were in fact moving towards your chosen destination. You could swear that you felt the projected people passing by as you crossed a street that wasn’t there. None of the other people had faces, a fact that both unsettled you, but made you glad. If they looked too human, you would have been unnerved entirely.

After a few moments of walking, you found yourself changing directions; the billboard was not a straight shot from your starting point as you’d previously thought; big cities were like that. The fear of running into a wall subsided as you began moving around projections, respecting the space of artificial beings made entirely of light. You’d find the humor in it later.

Finally, you were near the billboard, looking upwards. Then as soon as the scene had been projected, it changed and left you alone in a spotlight of soft blue. It was at this point that you realized you’d hardly moved. Though the screens were changing, you turned to Natasha with a small and thoughtful pout.

“I moved.”

“Yes,” Natasha agreed, offering nothing else.

“But,” you looked down at your feet, “I know I moved more than this.”

“You moved all around the room,” there was an amused hum to Natasha’s voice as she spoke.

You were in disbelief, and looking up only made you feel less in touch with reality. A replicated human projection was mere feet in front of you. Though it was faceless, blue, and fairly featureless, it was **you**. It was the same height, same build, and though you didn’t make a habit of staring at yourself, you recognized the stance immediately. The surprise in your chest was uncalled for as Natasha had told you exactly what you’d see. Yet the moment was surreal, the first of many out-of-touch experiences you’d have as a field agent.

“Recording A,” Natasha called out, finding your side and looking at the projection intently.

The projection began to walk with purpose. There was a lot to take in, from the way its arms swung _constantly_ to the way it seemed to drag the toe of its shoe every third step. You didn’t do that, you would have noticed. Someone would have told you.

You began to circle the projection, watching yourself walk from the right and the back. Standing behind yourself you realized that despite the projection being something of a shapely blob, it was still obviously you. Though you’d never seen yourself walking from such an angle, you would have been able to spot yourself from yards away.

Natasha’s point was incredibly obvious all at once. If you, who had an inability to see the back of you, were able to recognize a similarly sized blob, a well-informed enemy agent could easily do the same. You were **painfully** _you_.

The more you considered it, the more daunting the task of changing became. Natasha caught sight of your dispirited expression. Though she didn’t help mentor trainees often, she knew the face well. It was a natural reaction to the presentation, feeling overwhelmed. She had assigned importance to something you felt was impossible to do. It was a carefully constructed lesson for your benefit, Natasha had set you up and you felt a loss of hope.

“What do you notice first?” the agent asked, meeting your eyes over the projection’s shoulder.

“I’ve got a great ass?” you said, trying to joke your way out of admitting how intimidated you were.

“Other than the obvious,” Natasha replied with a smirk, she didn’t miss a beat. “If I tell you what I see first, you’re only going to get further inside your head.”

Though you were certain that Natasha was speaking the truth, you were still curious. You wanted to know what the woman saw when she observed you as if the projection would provide some insight.

“I drag my foot, I don’t know when I started doing that.” You wondered if you’d always done it, the one, two, slide. Surely you would have noticed scuffs on the toes of your shoes.

“It’s not uncommon when someone’s walking with a purpose, go on.”

Her gaze made you warm and you shifted under her anticipatory scrutiny. “I move quicker than I thought,” you mused, choosing to see this as a positive affirmation. “I swing my arms, but mostly at the elbow.”

“You have tunnel vision.”

“I can’t see its - _my_ eyes,” you frowned.

“But I could see you when you were walking. I told you to focus, and you definitely did. I could have known where you were headed if I’d seen you from across the street. Your destination was obvious.”

Of course, you’d been obvious, your only direction was to walk forward. In the real world, on a genuine mission, you wouldn’t have been so obvious. That was your theory, anyway. Lips parting, you began to challenge Natasha’s assessment, like a fool, but she reached out her hand to you. Your plans to defend your pride stalled abruptly.

You took the offered hand without realizing the way your eyes followed Natasha with doe-like wonder. Natasha pulled you through the projection, temporarily disrupting the pattern. She directed you to the image, choosing to keep you close so she could direct your line of sight. Her voice was at your ear as she pointed to your knees.

“Your knees never come up high, you move fluidly, that’s how you were able to get past all of those,” you caught her smirk from the corner of your eye, “people.” You knew she was going to call you out, but if she was going compliment you in the same breath, perhaps it wasn’t so bad.

“It’s good,” she continued, “it means you’ll do better when you’ve got to change out in the open.”

“ _What_?”

“Relax,” Natasha said, and you swore she purred just to soothe you. “We won’t get to that for a while.” Your stomach flipped as your brain fixated on the suggestion of future training sessions with Natasha as if you hadn’t daydreamed about them at your desk for the previous week.

“But look at your head,” the woman said, directing your attention once more. “You were aware of what was immediately around you through your periphery, but you never stopped looking ahead at your destination. There could have been someone behind you or ahead of you at any point and you would have missed them because they weren’t directly in front of you. Speed increase by one point five.”

Your projection sped up, presumably continuing to play the recording. You watched as the light replication walked, never looking anywhere but ahead. It didn’t seem like such a problem; many people walked with intent. Perhaps the problem lied within one of Natasha’s first teachings, assume you’re being watched. If someone was already watching you, your take-no-stops walking style would be a surefire way to lead anyone to your drop point.

“So what do I do,” you asked finally, choosing to skip ahead to the ‘solution’ part of the lesson. You hoped Natasha didn’t take your abruptness as an insult.

She didn’t.

“Being aware is the first, and biggest step in creating a reliable cover. Changing things is easier. Lights up, stop projection, and end recording.”

The projection dispersed, and slowly the lights returned to the soft white fluorescent overhead effect they’d had when you arrived. Your reflection returned in front of you, and you tried not to blush at the sight of how close you were to Natasha, or rather, how close she was to you.

“If you’re leaving a hub, you’ll have access to clothing and accessories before you step outside. If you’re going from a hotel room to a drop site, you may have to get creative. The good news is, little things can make a big difference.” Natasha put her hand into her pocket and pulled out something that confused you, a small rock.

“Put this in your shoe,” the woman instructed.

You reached out for the rock, unsure as to why you were doing so - other than the obvious desire to obey Natasha’s instruction. The rock slipped into your shoe fairly easily and immediately you felt the uncomfortable pinch of its sharp edges digging into the sensitive sole of your foot.

“Now, walk to the mirror in front of you.”

As soon as you began to move, it was apparent. By making a small change, you’d altered the way you moved. It almost shocked you how simple the action had been.

“It’s a lot easier to throw someone off when you’re far away and surrounded by people. But you have to be smart about how you weave through a crowd.”

“I can’t look like I do it for sport, then?”

“Correct,” Natasha affirmed, seemingly unfazed by your second attempt at nervous comedy. “A typical person may swerve around some people, but the faster you move, the more you look like you’ve got somewhere important to be.”

“Maybe I should always pose as a businesswoman then,” you considered.

“You sure you’re not looking to get a closet full of SHIELD tailored suits?”

“I mean,” you smiled, glad Natasha had engaged with you albeit in her typical sardonic tone, “I wouldn’t mind.”

“You rarely get to choose your cover, get used to that idea now, CEO.”

“Hey, I didn’t think I’d be a CEO, maybe a middle-level manager.” Natasha’s eyes were playful as she listened. “Corner office though.”

“Of course,” the woman added.

“Of course,” you gave a small laugh in agreement. “Can I ask you something?” Technically you had asked her something, but it seemed appropriate to ask for permission to stray from the immediate topic. Natasha nodded and waited for your inquiry.

“Am I hopeless?”

She wasted no time, “Not at all,” she affirmed. You knew that if she, the famed Black Widow, was saying it, it must be true. Natasha didn’t lie for the comfort of others, especially when that, 'other’ could get themselves into trouble because of a lie.

“You’re feeling helpless because you’re seeing what you couldn’t see before,” her poetry seeped into the conversation again, but you left her unchecked as she continued, “but that means that you’re observant. I’ve stood here with agents that took an hour before they noticed a single thing about their projection, and even they ultimately made it through field training.” Her eyes were soft but confident; assuring. She didn’t want you to be deterred when she felt you had potential.

You nodded a silent, 'thank you,’ even if it was hard to accept. “Is this where you tell me it’s a hell of a lot easier to hide from afar?”

“I was going to leave that until next time,” Natasha quipped, “but yes if you’re eager to jump ahead.”

“If that means you’re going to teach me to lie, then yes, let’s.” You were only half-serious, you didn’t want to skip past any valuable information Natasha had for you. But the thought of a lesson-in-lying from Natasha was incredibly exciting.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but the two of you ended up facing each other. The space between you both was familiarly close though closer than you felt you ought to be. You liked the proximity, and that made it dangerous. Natasha was looking at you the way you figured she looked at puzzles she needed to solve. It made your skin prickle with anticipation as you waited for her to respond. Though her hands remained at her sides, you felt as though she was touching you as she observed your features. You could feel the uncertainty tingle all the way down to your toes.

“That’s going to take some more time,” Natasha said flatly. She watched your face for a reaction. You felt like a test subject, but in a study, you’d begged to be a part of. “The eyes are hard to control, they’ll give you away every time if you’re not careful.”

Though one could dismiss the, 'you’ in the statement as general, it felt pointed. Natasha had to be referring to your eyes. You suspected them to be traitors at the best of times. “It seems easy for you,” you said quietly.

“Because I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

Her words hung in the air, daring you to be intimidated, but you weren’t. You were in awe despite yourself. You wanted to see the agent in action. You wanted to watch her as she lied and bluffed her gorgeous ass off.

“Will I get to see?”

“What, me lying?”

You nodded, Natasha’s catlike grin tugged at the corners of her full lips.

“Maybe, but you’ve got homework to do.”

The thought of doing paperwork made your wrists hurt with phantom cramps.

“Ask the people around you what they notice about you. Have them imagine they’re looking for you in a crowd, take mental notes.”

You weren’t excited to hear what others had to say, but at least it would give you something to tell Natasha. And if you worked hard enough, you could even correct a few things before your next meeting.

“You should stay and work on your gait,” Natasha said as she put some distance between you both. “Practice walking like someone lost in thought, see where it takes you.”

“When’s the next training?” You hated how eager you sounded. If your eyes gave you away, your voice tattled on you like a child.

“Friday,” Natasha replied simply on her way to leave the room. You assumed she was done addressing you, but before she opened the door, Natasha scanned you head to toe. “Wear something nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback thus far! I tend to post on my Tumblr first so if you're ever curious as to whether or not I've updated, check it out.


	3. You Should Be Sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You need to practice lying. Natasha thought it wise to start at a ridiculous art exhibit. If only you knew more about Neo-expressionism.

You were glad that you’d remembered the suggested dress code. Everyone around you looked **expensive**. You expected a high society vibe, with a bit of false Bohemian flair, but you hadn’t expected silks, satins, and pocket squares. Instantly, you felt out of place; simple amongst a sea of elegance.

Then, as if your self-doubt was a summoning spell, Natasha appeared beside you. Though she wore a dark purple dress, she was radiant. It was gown-like but there was far more mobility and casualness to the cut. Natasha was not known for the length of her legs, one of the smaller agents, you’d found, but her dress had a slit that ran up the side. When she walked, everyone got a glimpse of her thigh, and Natasha seemed at least four inches taller, all of it leg.

Even if you hadn’t been expecting her, your eyes would have found her immediately. Without stepping foot into the art gallery, you knew Natasha would be the best-looking person in the entire building - small as it may have been.

“You look nice,” she said, offering a warm smile. It didn’t take her long before she began to scan the area. To another, less educated person, Natasha would appear as though she was looking for a familiar face. It was common for someone at a party - if that’s what the stuffy opening was considered. You didn’t see a whole lot of food and gatherings without food could hardly be called, ‘parties’.“

When you looked at Natasha you saw the truth. The woman was gathering information. She really was the most impressive person you knew.

"So who are you,” she asked, voice quiet enough to only be heard by you alone.

You could feel the corners of your mouth stretching widely. Hopefully, it didn’t draw any unnecessary attention, but you’d been hoping she’d ask. For weeks you’d been thinking of different covers you could take should your mentor ask you to practice. In reality, you’d never get to choose. You would get the covers SHIELD thought you could pull off, but in training, it seemed that you would have more fun.

“Well,” you started, “I haven’t thought about being anyone too flashy.”

“That’s good,” Natasha praised. “You don’t want to be too impressive. Don’t give anyone a reason to want to remember you.”

“Right, so I was working on,” you caught Natasha smiling, amused by your admission. You weren’t sure if you were meant to be embarrassed. “an academic type, masters, maybe Ph.D. Depends on the subject.”

“What’s the subject you’re studying today?”

“I guess art?”

“You don’t sound sure, you should be sure.”

You frowned, realizing that 'art’ was a rather broad topic for an advanced degree. You’d considered other fields of study, fields you knew about so that you could lie easier, but art was complex. You looked through the large windows of the gallery.

“What style of art is that?” you asked, unsure if you’d even know the term if Natasha told you.

“Pick something else,” Natasha instructed. Your face fell, and you immediately turned to her with a small pout that was unbecoming of an agent in training.

“But,” you began. Natasha was quick to stop you, graciously but firmly.

“If you can’t tell me, you don’t know enough to lie about it. You go in and tell people you’re getting your masters in art, they’re going to ask you about your favorite artists, works that inspired you, they’re going to ask for your thoughts on this work. 'Looks nice,’ won’t convince anyone.”

A defeated sensation began to form in your chest. You sighed through your nose, unwilling to give up even if it felt like the action would offer so much relief. Quitting often felt very rewarding in the moments that immediately followed. It was later that people felt bad about quitting.

“I can see that look in your eyes, try again,” Natasha said, effectively calling you out. “You’ve been working on covers? Surely you’ve got more than that for me.”

Her eyes found yours and you knew that you had to deliver. You had to make Natasha proud. But first, you had a question, and it was one you’d asked already. “Do you know what style of art that is?”

Natasha smirked and nodded, “Neo-Expressionism.” You had her.

“So you could be the art expert,” you said, desperate for Natasha to play along.

“I could be an enthusiast, no expert. An art fan perhaps.”

“Because _your person_ grew up in New York City and they have this art there,” you stopped, “they do have this there right?”

Natasha laughed. She didn’t just giggle or snicker, she _laughed_ at you. It didn’t offend you, in fact, it made you smile. You were out in public with a beautiful, insanely skilled, and whip-smart woman and you’d made her laugh. You hoped at least one person noticed. Then you could really believe it.

“Yeah,” she said, steadying herself, “yes, New York was very much involved. I’ll have to take you to a decent museum I guess.”

You both loved and hated when she did that, suggested you’d see her again. You knew you would, she’d given you genuine previews of each lesson, and you knew she was going to continue to mentor you, but every time, you’d daydream. You would daydream so much it would almost set you up for failure, or disappointment. Luckily, Natasha was unable to disappoint you.

“So you have your cover, right?” you asked.

“I do, but I’m not telling you until I hear yours.”

“That’s fine because my reason for being here is you.”

Natasha was curious as she considered you, eyes searching your face - for what, you didn’t know. She was trying to learn something. You continued, a bit nervous under her assessment of her stare. “I’m your friend and you wanted to come to see the pretty pictures. I wanted to spend time with you and drink.”

“You’re on duty, pal,” Natasha was quick to interject.

“They don’t know that,” you responded, just as speedy with your reply.

Nat nodded, pretending that you’d surprised her with your point. You hadn’t, and you wouldn’t. “Okay, friends out at an exhibit opening. Not bad, easy enough to pass off, but I haven’t heard anything about who you are yet. And now we’ve been standing here for five minutes.”

She put her arm out for you. At first, you were stricken with something a lot like fear. Friends linked arms, right? You thought back to times you may have linked arms with a friend who was definitely just a friend. You remembered two distinct times, which made it okay to take Natasha’s extended limb and intertwine it with your own.

Together you entered the gallery. A wall of perfume hit you in the face and you winced.

“Why don’t they just kick you in the forehead,” Natasha murmured flatly beside you.

Your cheeks rose as you smiled. If your night was going to be moving around and listening to Natasha’s commentary, you were in for a treat. As if being able to see her wasn’t enough of one.

A waiter was circulating near you and Natasha beckoned him close. She retrieved two fluted glasses from the waiter’s tray. Thanking him and really, dismissing him, Natasha handed you a glass.

“I thought I was on duty.”

“It’s to hold,” Natasha said flatly, not affect to her voice whatsoever.

When your brows furrowed together, Nat smiled.

“You’re not on duty, you’re practicing in a loose setting. There’s no one here you need to be on your guard for, but keep the glass in the hand in mind. In some countries, if you’re at a party and you’re not drinking, you will garner attention.”

“But what if my cover was a recovering alcoholic? Not everyone drinks.”

“Easier to hold the glass than explain to a room full of drunks why you’re the only one with water. You can dump some out from time to time, or if we know the bartender, they’ll get you something that looks the part.”

You nodded, taking in the information. It had been a concern, you knew some agents had to build up a tolerance to certain drugs before they infiltrated groups known for substance abuse. A person couldn’t really fake taking an offered dose of something if they were being watched. Certain risks had to be taken. Holding a glass of champagne or a sparkling white didn’t seem so bad in comparison.

Natasha looked at you as you took a sip of your bubbling alcohol. She watched as you scrunched your nose, the bubbles had tickled you. First, Natasha appeared as though she was going to speak, but something behind you caught her eye.

“There’s a couple behind you, they look chatty. Let’s talk to them,” she said.

Without giving you a moment to talk her out of it, she walked away. She walked to the painting the man and woman were eying. The way she sauntered up to them was perfect, and you wondered if she’d practiced it or if she was simply that good. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was raw, natural talent.

“He’s a genius, isn’t he?” Natasha said in a tone you didn’t recognize. You stifled a laugh.

The other woman was tall, thin, and older than Natasha by at least ten years. Her hair was bleached, not in a creative way, but in a way that suggested she thought everyone around her couldn’t see very well. You wondered how someone who presumably had a lot of money, had hair so damaged.

“Oh completely,” the woman gushed, but it was the type of gushing one does when they want to appear more invested in something than they actually were. “You know we, this is my husband, John. John say, 'hi’.”

The man nodded but didn’t take his hands from his pockets. He was clearly above uttering a syllable - a true charmer.

“Oh God, I didn’t even say my name,” the woman laughed as if she’d actually said something funny. She hadn’t. “I’m Deeana,” she smiled like she was waiting for Natasha to recognize the name. When Natasha remained silent, Deeana continued. “Like I was saying, we, John and I, we went to another one of Le Gaul’s exhibitions in Madrid last year.”

“No,” Natasha said, feigning shock and awe, “you saw the Frigidity exhibition when it was in Madrid? I am so jealous.”

It was the fakest you’d ever seen Natasha and it tickled you - a lot. You could tell that she was purposefully making a show of how easy it was to lie to some people. She wanted you to know that it was possible. You simply had to adapt.

“You should have been there,” the woman said as if that was a possibility. “You really missed something magical. Is this your first exhibition in general or?”

Feeling more confident, you walked up to Natasha silently. The spotlight was on her, but you wanted a chance to at least lie once.

“Actually, we’ve been to others all over the city,” you said. “What was that one you took me to last month?”

Natasha pretended to be delighted, but you knew she was now trying to think of some art exhibit she’d read about in passing. The thought made you smirk so you quickly took another sip of champagne.

“That was the Gold Works of the Byzantine,” she replied. You had no way to know if the event had actually occurred. You wanted Deeana and her _sidekick_ to leave so that you could ask.

“I heard that was lovely! We couldn’t go, John’s business has just been booming and you know, someone’s gotta keep things running at home.”

“Yeah, the three housekeepers,” mumbled John. Deeana’s brow twitched, you saw it once, twice, and then a few times in rapid succession.

“He kids, we kid. Well, it was nice meeting you!”

Without so much as another look in your direction, Deeana ushered the man away from you and Natasha. As soon as they were out of earshot, Natasha turned to you. She was going to speak, but you had something more pressing in mind.

“Was that a real thing?” you asked.

“The Gold Works?” Natasha chuckled.

“Yeah, or did you make that up?”

“I made it up.”

“How did you know they wouldn’t call you out?”

“Because she’s one of those types who want to say they were going to go everywhere they didn’t go. And? The Frigidity exhibit was in Milan, not Madrid. She didn’t go anywhere.”

You couldn’t help the goofy grin that formed on your face. Natasha was so smart, and she was letting you into her thought process. It both impressed you and made you feel special, as ridiculous as it seemed to admit it to yourself.

“You keep staring at me like that and people are going to assume you’re here as more than just my friend.”

It slipped out of your mouth before your judgment had the sense to snatch it back, “I mean, to be fair, I don’t have many friends who look like you.”

You both insulted your friends, whom you loved, and complimented a work colleague’s appearance. There were so many other things you could have said.

“So are you saying that you couldn’t have a friend that looks like me, or you wouldn’t? I’m trying to decide if I’m supposed to feel complimented by that,” Natasha replied. You cringed, teeth locked together.

“I didn’t mean it, shit, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I don’t know why it came out like that, but I was thinking, you look…” you were warm, your cheeks especially, “nice, and when I go out with my friends, I never think they look this nice.”

“Maybe you need to tell your friends that they can’t dress for shit,” Natasha said with a tone so dry that it elicited a startled, high-pitched laugh from your throat. You clamped a hand down over your mouth but it was pointless. No one but Natasha had paid you any attention. You were free to react.

The night carried on and you worked on your cover with Natasha’s help. Though, you swore she was throwing you curveballs. Once you’d decided that you worked in sales - something you’d reluctantly done before SHIELD - Natasha would ask you to remind her of certain key business phrases like, 'Spend the big one,’ 'Blueing the green,’ and 'Blood Buy’. She’d made them all up just to watch you make up meanings on the spot.

And for some twisted reason, you loved it.

As the exhibit began to quiet, and guests started to trickle out and head towards late-night bites, you and Natasha were trying to rid yourselves of a well-intentioned but terribly boring couple of fifty-somethings. They clearly wanted to come across as younger than they were, and they seemed to think that talking with you both would help them achieve their wish. Natasha was ready to rescue you both.

“Oh babe, you look cold,” she said, looking at you as if she called you, 'babe’ all the time.

You controlled your face, and you were certain it surprised you both. Nodding, you said, “yeah, I’m not feeling too well.”

Natasha put her hand under your chin, her eyes locked on yours. “Yeah, I think we should go home.” She turned to the couple, “ _so_ nice meeting you.”

And as simple as that, you were both free. Natasha lead you around the corner, and not two seconds after did she roll her eyes with a groan. “God, I thought he was going to play us a video of his band on a cracked iPhone,” she said.

She leaned her back against the wall of the building. You stood in front of her, once again struck by how beautiful she looked in her dress.

“You really need to work on your face.” Her voice was soft in a way that suggested she might feel sorry for you. It made you frown.

“I thought I did alright in there,” you declared.

“Not talking about then,” she said, and from the look in her eyes, you knew what she meant. She was telling you, in a roundabout way, that she knew about your crush. Of course, she did, you thought. How could she not?

You weren’t sure if you were meant to respond. Would it be gauche to ask if you were still able to work with her, you wondered. You figured you’d let her head.

“Never let anyone know something if you’re not ready to tell them,” Natasha instructed. You nodded quietly. “I had fun,” she said, surprising you with the way she’d moved on so fast.

“Yeah,” you replied, still unsure of how you needed to reply. It was sound advice, you knew that, but it wasn’t going to stick in your mind, not when you were embarrassed, more so than you’d even been before.

Sensing your inner turmoil, Natasha pushed herself off the wall and lessened the gap between you. Gently, she reached out to touch your face. Her fingers were featherlight against your skin. “You’re going to do better than you think,” she said. “But you have to get out of your head. You carry too much with you when you’re supposed to be present.”

Natasha leaned in and placed a warm kiss on your cheek. It was affectionate without being patronizing. She wasn’t pitying you, but you weren’t sure what you felt.

“Go home, start telling more lies.”

What an assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following along with this story! I typically post more on my Tumblr, so I encourage you, even if you're not a registered user, to check me out. You can even request something that I'll post there, and later here. You can request anonymously or with your account if you have one. 
> 
> Thank you to all of those who've left comments or kudos. I appreciate you taking the time to do that.


	4. See That Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were a SHIELD agent in training, and sometimes that meant you’d be a doll for an afternoon. At least your mentor was the one picking your outfits.

"Okay," you sighed, looking around the bright room before you. It had come down the line that you had to report to the Wardrobe and Makeup department. You weren't sure if Natasha was waiting for you. Her training had been in the field; she wasn't going to put you in a disguise, that wasn't her skill set. Natasha wore disguises from time to time, but you doubted she'd learned how to create the advanced prosthesis work that you'd likely have to get.

It was bound to happen, learning from someone else, but you definitely didn't feel as excited as you did when Natasha's presence was assured. You thought back to the way Natasha called you out, presumably for making heart-eyes at her. She hadn't said anything explicitly, but it had to be what she meant when she told you to 'work on your face'. You'd spent the days after wondering if you'd be pushed upon someone else. Natasha was a busy professional, maybe she didn't want to deal with your schoolgirl nonsense.

You were also dismayed by the prospect of sitting in a chair for hours. There wasn't a day that went by that you didn’t see coworkers go into hair and makeup, and come out as strangers. You hoped for what was considered, 'light disguise'. The light disguise was usually used if someone was going to see you from afar.

Fake noses and the like were only for up-close interactions. You were only in training, so your fingers were crossed as you hoped for the less invasive treatment.

"You look nervous." There she was; oh how relieved you felt. A renewed excitement filled your chest as you spun to face her. Natasha raised her eyebrows playfully, trying to make light of your obvious hesitance. "This will be the easiest part of your work. I promise."

"Sitting in a chair for hours?"

"Hours? What do you think we're going to do?"

You shrugged, "I wish I knew."

Natasha rolled her eyes with a showy display, openly mocking your trepidation. You didn't mind, you liked it when she played with you. You liked that she saw you as someone fit to joke with. She was known for sparing no fools, so the fact that she was even enduring your questions, meant that she had to see something in you. The narcissistic part of you wished you knew exactly what she saw, and how she felt when she saw it.

"You're not getting a new face today," Natasha confirmed. She nodded to her hands and you saw that she'd grabbed two coffees, one presumably for you. You took it with a nod of thanks. Natasha's eyes were on you when you took a sip; you caught the way she shook her head with a smile one usually reserved for children.

"What?" you asked.

"You didn't ask what it was," Natasha replied. "Didn't ask where I got it, didn't wait until I took a sip on the chance that these came from the same pot."

You were catching flies as your jaw moved up and down, fumbling for an excuse. "Well, I..."

"You think you know me, I get it. You trust me, but should you?"

Again you were at a loss for words, brain flipping over any logical responses. "Yes?"

"Why?"

Why? She'd asked a question to which you didn't have an answer. You trusted Natasha because it seemed appropriate to do so, but you couldn't say why.

"If you can't answer that, why you trust someone, you may want to reconsider whether or not you really trust them."

Natasha moved past you and further into the room. She pointed at the vanities that sat along the walls, there were four in total, though you assumed there were more elsewhere. SHIELD had a lot of field agents, and many needed some sort of disguise. You figured that the wardrobe rooms were even bigger.

"Makeup usually comes first," Natasha informed. "Wardrobe gets angry if any makeup gets on the clothes. If they have to redress you, it's your fault."

"Even if a makeup artist dropped dusting powder on me?"

Natasha nodded, "Creative types tend to get attached to their vision."

Natasha allowed you to explore the room, looking at all of the instruments of disguise. Several times you had to point to something and ask its purpose. Sometimes Natasha would know, other times she would shrug.

"Where are the masks?"

"Don't worry about the masks right now. Masks are," Natasha paused to really consider her phrasing, "if you have to wear a full mask, things are really intense. You're not going to deal with that level of disguise for a while."

"No fake noses then?"

"Oh, I didn't say that." Natasha winked.

At some point during your investigation, two makeup artists arrived, an agent trailing behind them. In your free-for-all, you'd forgotten that you were in a room that was in use. You had gotten used to your adventures with Natasha being a two-person affair, with guest stars for flavor. Natasha silently instructed you to sit in an empty makeup chair so that you could watch the process. She pulled a chair beside you so that she could make comments about the purpose of each stroke of the artists' brushes. It felt like she was telling you secrets; sharing information for only your ears. She wasn't, of course, but you liked to imagine she was sharing more with you than she had with anyone else.

While the makeup room was impressive with the number of products held within, the massive wardrobe room was like the finest theatre costume shop you'd ever seen. In the front of the room was a navigational sign. The room needed a damn sign it was so big. Your eyes were wide as you stared behind at the warehouse-like wardrobe department.

"People have gotten lost," Natasha said, tapping the sign as she walked past it. Clearly, she didn't think she needed the sign. You had to wonder, how often did Natasha actually visit the wardrobe department? The way she walked implied that she knew where she wanted to lead you, but you knew that realistically, her outfits were given to her and she was sent away. Still, you followed. You'd follow her anywhere, and not solely for the view.

"I can see why." There were costume makers in the adjacent room. Natasha had told you that they made alterations more often than they made new pieces. As you saw the insane number of outfits, you understood. No one needed to make something new when there was three malls' worth of clothes in SHIELD possession.

You followed Natasha to an aisle labeled, _women's suits_. With eager eyes, you scanned all of the colors of jackets and pants. They were arranged in a gradient, from the deepest, most stunning black to the purest white that made you nervous to see. You'd hate the liability that would come with actually wearing a white suit. You didn't need the responsibility that came with white clothes, let alone a white suit made by SHIELD.

Natasha stopped in the middle of the aisle and surveyed you. Her eyes ran over your form and you immediately felt warmer from the attention. You couldn't discern what information Natasha was gathering, but you assumed she had a point. She didn't typically stop and stare at you like you were furniture she was attempting to construct.

Then, she nodded, and set off once more, further down the aisle. Luckily, she walked you through her thought process. "You'll likely always need something tailored. The odds of something fitting you perfectly are slim if you're going to be in something structured like this. The more casual clothing, you can get away with wearing it out."

"And we're with the suits, because?"

"They're nice." It was a simple enough answer, but it implied that you were running around the wardrobe for fun rather than purpose. It must have been why Natasha hadn't consulted any of the tailors or garment workers. She wanted to play dress up, and the thought amused you.

"So this isn't for a particular mission," you asked, already knowing the reality. You wanted to hear if Natasha would admit that she really wanted the dressing room movie montage.

"It's for your training," Natasha said. She began to slide suit jackets along the rack. Apparently, you were going to wear a dark burgundy. The sight made your eyes squint, unconvinced.

"Where would I go in a suit like that?"

"Wherever you're told."

The warehouse was huge, and Natasha had you chasing her all over the place, down some aisles, and up some others. It took you at least an hour before you saw a shoe.

By the time you were in the dressing room, with its flattering cool-toned light, you were a bit winded. It seemed that doing a speed run around the warehouse had also been a part of your training. Natasha made you carry everything you were meant to try on. She was the chooser, the guide, and she appeared to enjoy picking out the more ridiculous garments the most. You wondered if she had dolls as a child and if they were frequently a disaster to behold.

The suit was by far the most impressive garment you'd ever worn. At no point could you see it blending in. You emerged from the dressing room and found Natasha sitting on the circular couch in the middle of the waiting room. It was off to the side of the warehouse, away from prying eyes. It may have been for modesty, but you also theorized that it was to avoid a blown cover. SHIELD had had its fair share of moles.

"I don't see how I'm not going to draw attention to myself in this," you said, concerned.

Natasha rose from the couch and approached you, shaking her head. "Not if you are going someplace where this is the norm. We perform surveillance on a lot of eccentric types and this, believe it or not, is tame." She reached out to adjust your collar. You'd missed the back entirely, too caught up in imagining where you'd go in such a suit. Her fingers brushed against your neck and you shivered. Natasha must have noticed, as she said, "Sorry, are my hands cold?"

"A little," you lied. Her hands were fine, comforting even. You longed to feel them elsewhere.

"They keep the dressing rooms freezing for some reason. I think people get nervous and they don't want them to sweat through the clothes before they even leave." Natasha tapped the top button of your cream button-down shirt. "Mind if I undo this?"

You remembered what she said, you needed to work on your face. So, you nodded like it wasn't the best question you'd been asked all week. Natasha unbuttoned your top buttons. Her hands trailed down your sides towards your waist. Gently, she untucked a bit of your shirt so that you looked more casual and less like you were going to play piano on a cruise ship.

"It was too perfect before," Natasha said, not bothering to step back. She looked you over, judging the presentation she'd planned but you'd executed. "Record release party, what are you doing there?"

She was quizzing you; the challenge made you smile. "I am a photographer, not for a particular magazine, but one of the ones Getty or some other stock image company sends out to events. Freelance mostly."

Natasha was proud of you, you could tell by the crooked smirk she wore, it was encouraging. You spun around so that you were both facing a standing mirror. There was something about seeing yourself next to Natasha that made you bolder. Maybe it was the suit, but you felt compelled to offer your arm. Without wasting a moment, Natasha linked her arm with yours.

"I'd have a camera with me of course, and that means that people will be willing to stop and talk to me. Entertainment types need publicity, but they won't seek me out due to their pride. I can also use the camera to obscure my face if I feel that someone is looking at me for a little too long."

Her fingers squeezed your arm, a small touch of praise. Usually, you would have faltered, but you'd been practicing on controlling the way your facial muscles reacted to stimuli.

"It gives you an excuse not to stay in one place for too long, that's always good."

You nodded with pride, "And no one is going to ask me a damn thing about my camera unless they're another photographer, but I wouldn't spend much time with them. I wouldn't be there to network with _them_."

Natasha seemed to enjoy your confidence. You knew that deep down she was also proud of herself. She'd been mentoring you after all. She was allowed to take some responsibility.

"I like it," she admitted and you felt like you'd won a grand prize on a game show.

"My cover, or this suit?" You motioned to yourself.

"Both, obviously. Though if I was dressing you for style, not purpose, I would make some changes."

You pretended to take offense. "This is..." you tried to remember the label you'd seen.

Natasha came to your rescue, "Dolce & Gabbana."

"Dolce & Gabbana," you said with emphasis as if you'd remembered it all on your own. "This is Dolce & Gabbana, what could you possibly do that would make this better? This jacket alone is probably more than twice my rent."

"I'd take the button down away," Natasha started. She looked at you with a wolfish stare; apparently, styling you for real was far more exciting than styling you for a made-up event. "Blazer unbuttoned top," her head tilted from side to side as she considered how bare she wanted your chest, "Two. They're widely spaced. And I wouldn't keep the pants. I'd either go no pants-"

You interrupted her, "Wait, you'd go no pants, or I wouldn't be wearing pants?"

"Either or, but I'm thinking about you right now. It's long enough."

It didn't feel long enough, but then again, the trouser made it difficult to feel where the jacket ended.

"If that's too much leg for you, black leggings. Pleather I think."

"I feel like you want me to look like Mick Jagger."

Natasha shrugged, "I was thinking more Bowie, but sure. It's a rockstar's blazer, you can't deny that." She was smiling again when she reached out to touch the deep wine-colored fabric.

"It is very nice. I feel like I'm taking a risk wearing something this nice," you said.

"If you spill something on it, we'll just hide it and run."

It was your turn to smile as you imagined the pair of you running from some irate seamstress. "So this is what you'd pick out for me? Out of everything in there?"

Natasha shook her head, "No, it looks good, but this was an exercise. I wanted to see you come up with a character based on an outfit. If I was dressing you the way I'd like to-"

You nearly missed the rest of Natasha's sentence, hung up on her phrasing.

"I'd pick something else."

"Like what?" She had your interest; she always did.

"Tell you what, I'll show you, but first you need to finish trying on what I already pulled for you. You're not done."

Pretending to be disgruntled, you dragged your feet back to the dressing cubicle.

"Any attitude and I don't take you with me next week."

"What's next week?"

"There's a drop happening in Krakow, takes place at a chess match."

Your heart began to thump with anticipation. "They're sending the Black Widow to do a drop."

"No, no. It's your drop, maybe I misspoke. Any attitude and you'll be going with someone else."

She wasn't serious, and although you knew as such, you made sure to keep on your best behavior.


	5. Be that Person P.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Natasha arrive in Krakow on the eve of your first solo mission.

It was cold, that was the first thing you noticed. Before you even looked around and took in your surroundings, you felt the extreme wind chill in the air. You pulled your scarf up and over your nose.

SHIELD of course let you fly under the radar in one of their private jets. There had been no airport required. Natasha reminded you, repeatedly, that you wouldn’t always go in style. Even as she led you into your hotel room, she cautioned you.

“This is a standard drop, in a town we know well, but don’t get used to anything. Everything is dependent on the mission. The more trust we have in the situation, the more accommodating SHIELD can be. But more often than not, you’re going to the airport, already undercover. Then, you’ll be stuck on a fourteen-hour flight - a baby heavy fourteen-hour flight.”

You knew what Natasha meant. You were traveling for work, and most people traveling for work tended to have the most basic accommodations. You’d love to actually see the city, but you’d have to settle for seeing it through your window.

“If I get alcohol on the plane, will SHIELD cover the expense?”

Natasha winked as she reached into her back pocket. She retrieved a wallet, and within it was a nondescript credit card. She held it between her fingers. “You get a per diem. It fluctuates depending on where you’re going and how long you’ll be there. You’ll turn in receipts, so be prepared to justify any weird purchases.”

She didn’t necessarily say you couldn’t order alcohol on SHIELD’s tab. You’d asked in jest, but it was an interesting fact to know. Though, you’d prefer to hear it outright. If there were flights riddled with crying babies, you might need to take advantage of SHIELD’s per diem.

Natasha took your agency issued suitcase into your bedroom. She’d been playing ‘keep away’ with the belongings for the entire flight. You’d been allowed to read about your cover story, it was simple. You weren’t going to be meeting with anyone so you didn’t need an intense backstory. Of course, you wanted one anyhow.

You were to be a saleswoman, a starter of accounts for a vineyard in Napa, California. On the flight, you’d taken time to come up with a fleshed-out history, how you got the job, why you wanted it in the first place, et cetera. In the end, Natasha said it would make for a worse film than Eat, Pray, Love. But, she didn’t dismiss any of the details which meant you had her seal of approval. Perhaps it wasn’t exciting and it was a little cliche, but reality was rarely all that interesting.

Natasha unzipped the suitcase and you were at her back in a flash, peering over her shoulder. She was moving slowly on purpose; she knew how eager you were to see your light disguise. You weren’t sure why, but you really wanted a wig.

What you found was bland, not in a bad way. You wouldn’t look bad, but all you saw were clothes, simple clothes. They were nice casual business clothes, but you were a bit disappointed. Natasha laughed, clearly having stared at your face to gauge your reaction.

“You were expecting something else?”

“No,” you said, “I guess not?”

“You wanted to go to a party and be a photographer.”

With a shrug, you mumbled, “Maybe a little.”

Natasha put her arm around your shoulder, you felt a strong sense of camaraderie. “You don’t want to go to a party, I promise. People are sloppy, they get drunk and their intel goes south. If you want to go to a party, we will find one to crash when the job is done. Until then, you’re just a gal traveling the world, hocking that wine.”

You leaned a bit of your weight against Natasha and nodded. “Do I get to pick the party?”

“Of course.” Natasha waited a moment, the two of you stood together in silence. “You want to see the toys?”

The toys were a series of cameras, some that you would wear and some feeds that had been placed strategically around the city. Natasha handed you a datapad with a feed from the street. “The bigger monitors are in the van and back at SHIELD HQ. This is how I’ll track you when you’re on the street. I’ll be hooked up to your audio feed, and your body cam. Pass me that blue box.”

As always, you followed Natasha’s orders and handed her the box. It felt empty, whatever the contents were, they were light.

Inside laid a small purple pin in the shape of a grape. You laughed as Natasha pinned it to her shirt. “Look at the pad,” she instructed. You did and saw yourself looking back at you. The pin was your body cam and SHIELD had made it fit your cover. You wondered if that meant you’d get to keep it. You’d ask another time.

You stood up and walked away from Natasha. The datapad recorded your every step as you walked across the room and though you’d seen yourself on camera multiples times, it still tickled you to see yourself from another angle. You could hear Natasha laugh as you jumped up and down. Her laugh elicited a giggle of your own. You were an adult, and so was she, but you were incredibly entertained by the camera. You began to duck and dodge on an invisible obstacle course.

“How far can it…see?” Was 'see’ the right word? It didn’t have eyes, but technically it was capturing something visual in real-time.

“Depending on the angle of the street, several hundred feet, but this is for closer interactions. This is so I can get a look at your immediate surroundings.”

“You keep saying 'I’ like you’ll be the only one looking after me.”

“No, but I’m the only one you know, and I’m the one who is going to pull the plug if anything seems off-color.”

It made your stomach flutter, the thought of Natasha being concerned with you. You liked to think that Natasha enjoyed mentoring you, but you hadn’t considered that she might feel protective over you as well. “I’ll be smart,” you said, hoping to alleviate any of the agent’s worry.

The smile she shared was soft and a little sad; it told you she’d heard the sentiment before, probably before something horrible. “I know you will,” she confessed. “But it’s what we don’t know that puts us at risk.”

“I thought you said I didn’t have much to worry about.”

“You don’t,” Natasha corrected. “But I wouldn’t be a good…” it was like she struggled with the word, “mentor if I didn’t instill a sense of alertness in my mentee.”

You nodded, and the room went silent. It wasn’t the comfortable silence you had shared with Natasha before. It was a pregnant pause filled with uncertainty. You trusted Natasha when she said you’d be safe, but the closer you got to your first mission, the more 'real’ it began to feel. And the more you considered it, the less prepared you felt.

“What am I dropping off?”

“You’ll get a briefcase in the van. You’ll drop one off, and pick one up. Simple as that.”

You shook your head, “But what’s in it?”

Natasha laughed. The severity of her laugh shook you; you hadn’t expected your question to gain such a reaction. “What?” you asked.

“Why do you think I know?”

“You don’t?” You were shocked. She was meant to be your guide on the mission, but she didn’t know what you were transporting. “What if it’s a bomb?!”

“It’s not a bomb,” she was still laughing at you. You couldn’t decide if you liked seeing her smile, or if your pride was wounded. “It’s probably information, maybe money. But they’ll rarely tell you what you’re holding.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” you asked, handing Natasha the datapad. “Shouldn’t I know what I’ve got?”

“Would it matter? You’re supposed to guard it regardless of what’s inside.” She put the datapad in her bag and slung the bag over her shoulder. “If you know what it is, you can be tortured for information.”

“Can’t that happen either way?”

“Yes,” Natasha said, her laughter had subsided. She was much more serious as she continued, “But if you don’t know, you can’t give them anything.”

Never before had you felt so expendable. Natasha was suggesting that SHIELD knew you could be taken and tortured, but their biggest concern was still their secrets. You knew it was important, and you knew it was a part of the job when you applied for the position, but it hadn’t felt so real before. You’d been naive by choice.

Natasha put her palm against your face. “You’ll be fine. Get some sleep, we’ll practice the switch in the morning.”

Her hand was the warmest thing you’d felt since landing. You closed your eyes and let yourself ease into Natasha’s gentle hold. She allowed you take comfort in her presence, probably against her better judgment, but she did.

* * *

The following day, you were told that you were ready. You didn’t feel ready, but Natasha said that was normal for a first solo outing.

You were in the van, getting your lapel pin attached. The tech specialists repeated much of the same information Natasha had already said. It made you happy to know that she was digging deep to make you feel secure in your knowledge. SHIELD didn’t tell their agents everything, and no one knew everything for safety reasons. So it meant a great deal that Natasha wanted you to feel informed - as informed as you were allowed to be.

“You know what to do,” Natasha assured you, voice firm but comforting. She wasn’t as close to you as she typically was. The added presence of other people making things less intimate than your lessons typically had been.

You nodded, even if you didn’t fully feel it. However, if Natasha believed in you, she must have had a reason. She was blunt and bold, and above all else, she seemed like maybe, just maybe, she’d grown fond of you. You had to trust that she wouldn’t let you walk into danger.

The van let you off on another street, one that was crowded with heavy traffic. You remembered what Natasha said, the more people, the easier it was to hide. No one was explicitly looking for a SHIELD agent, so all you had to do was blend in and not attract attention.

You approached the plaza and your instincts kicked in, as did the desire to make your mentor proud. First, you had to walk the walk. Luckily, the heels did a lot of the work for you. They were a sensible pump, but they certainly changed the way you carried yourself. However, you had a backstory. You were an 'eat, pray, love’ woman now.

So you put a bounce in your step, a wistful little step that while not eye-catching would suggest to someone that you were simply a person in a good mood. You were meant to be a woman in a foreign country, selling wine - you would be feeling yourself. In the back of your mind, you wondered if you should take a picture, a simple action to solidify your cover as a foreign visitor. But a voice in your head, a voice that sounded an awful lot like Natasha, said, 'don’t you dare.’ Tourists blended in to enemy agents, but they stuck out to pickpockets.

You’d hate to go back to SHIELD and say you got your case stolen by a common street thug.

“Good,” came Natasha’s actual voice via the earpiece she’d wired to you. “You’re going to go around the fountain toward the opposite end of the plaza.”

You said nothing, you weren’t supposed to. Natasha would know you understood when you moved and followed her direction. Letting your eyes remain only slightly focused, the way most people move through their day, you walked past the fountain. However, the moment you crossed behind the fountain, your earpiece went silent. It wasn’t quiet as if someone wasn’t talking, it was silent like your connection had been lost.

You didn’t know whether you were to continue walking, or if it was wiser to wait for the team to reconnect. Ahead you saw several individuals with briefcases. Natasha said you’d pick up one that was nearly identical to yours, but from a distance, most of them looked the same.

You were on your own.


	6. Be that Person P.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your comm has died and you’re on your own, expected to make a switch with a person nowhere to be seen. Oh, and there’s also a man headed right in your direction.

“Why isn’t she turning left?”

Natasha looked at the tech working the controls. When he didn’t reply, she stood up and leaned over his shoulder. Shaking her head, she reached around and flipped through the camera feeds.

“You need to go left,” she said into her mic. When you continued walking straight, Natasha shoved the microphone at the specialist. “Fix it, now.”

The man worked frantically, every strike of his fingers against computer keys made Natasha scowl. Her eyes were glued to the screens; you weren’t in danger, but you were certainly going to piss someone off when you didn’t meet them as planned.

Her hand was out, reaching for the door of the van.

“You’re not seriously going to leave, right?” the tech asked, his fingers still upon his keyboard.

With a noise that was suspiciously like a growl, Natasha spun around. “If you expect me to stay in here, then you need to get her back online. I’m not here to babysit you in a van. I am here to keep my agent safe.”

Fingers were striking against keys once more. Natasha didn’t sit, she knew better than that. If she needed to bolt, she needed to be on her feet. Sitting down encouraged comfort she wasn’t willing to feel with such uncertainty in the air.

She watched the camera feeds like a hawk, surveying every angle to make sure you were safe, even if you were going to get yourself lost sooner rather than later. She wished she was like one of the ‘super’ people she knew, able to send you a message telepathically. You kept walking, of course, you kept walking. You hadn’t heard her tell you to stop.

But then, just as she was willing you to change course, you did. Natasha neared the screen to make sure she was seeing you correctly. You were going right. Why were you going right? Natasha moved the camera so it followed you as you went towards the right side of the plaza. It was hard to see, but you were going up to a lone florist. They had a small cart off to the side.

“She’s buying you time, hurry up,” Natasha demanded. She knew what you were doing, but she didn’t like that you had to do it. It was never a good idea to hang around in one spot, but you wanted to make sure you did the drop as planned, and you needed Natasha to do that.

There was a heaviness that Natasha felt, and it sat on her shoulders like deadweight. She never liked having a partner for this reason. She hated being connected to someone because she tended to become invested in their safety. When you’d met, an immediate nagging arose in Natasha. You’d seemed so lost, eager, but lost. Unbeknownst to you, she’d seen you through the glass the day you’d gotten your new field position. She saw the way you were honored, yet terrified. It had been Natasha that assigned herself to you because she felt she could help you.

Growing attached to you was not a plan, nor was it something she foresaw. Her motivations had been genuine. They had been based on the desire to make sure you, a fellow agent, didn’t get yourself killed. She hadn’t expected that she would enjoy your company as much as she did.

Natasha caught someone on the screen; someone that was moving fast. She tried zooming in on them, but they were moving too fast. A screenshot showed no one she knew, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t someone to worry about. “I’m going to run this picture. Where’s my connection?”

“I think something out there knocked out the signal.”

“You’re saying someone on the ground is jamming the signal?” She was still watching the man as he crossed through the crowds with a purpose. Her scan came back without a match; she almost wished it had, then she’d know to act. The man was still moving.

And so was Natasha.

Without a word to the tech, Natasha left the van. She didn’t have a cover, so much as she had a civilian outfit. It didn’t matter, if the man was trouble, he’d probably know who she was anyway. There weren’t many enemies of SHIELD that weren’t familiar with the Black Widow.

She took a back alley, an alley she’d already scouted while you were still sleeping. Natasha had walked the path already; she knew the choke points, and she knew the exits. Getting to you wouldn’t be hard, but doing it in time may have been a challenge.

* * *

It felt like it had been minutes since you lost your connection. You were never meant to slow down or stop during a drop. Moving was crucial to not drawing attention. There were kiosks in the plaza, but stopping at one would mean staying in the same place for an undetermined amount of time. You asked yourself, 'what would Natasha do’? You came up short; you didn’t know. Natasha had been teaching you and giving you tips but she rarely shared her experiences with you. You had no idea what she would do, you could only guess what she would want you to do.

With the fountain at your back, you knew that the drop off point was nearby. No one with a briefcase like yours was in your immediate line of sight or your periphery. It had to be like yours, that was the only information you had, so you needed to make sure it was the detail you searched for above all else. Whoever you were trading with was no doubt attempting to look inconspicuous as well. You tried to think of ways to spot another person undercover. You ruled out the more wiry and alert people. Anyone who commanded attention was also an unlikely option.

You needed a reason to stick around the plaza, you needed to wait, but you didn’t know the easiest and safest way to kill time. Without looking around wildly, you surveyed all of the kiosks and vendors in the plaza. You wanted a short line or no line. You needed to position yourself where very few people could come up behind you.

There was a florist standing with a cart that overflowed with flowers. He was sat upon a stool to the left of the fountain. People bought flowers, and you were an 'Eat, Pray, Love’ wine seller living her dreams, of course, you’d stop to smell the roses. You might even smell the lilies and irises too.

The florist greeted you with a smile. He stood up to show you all of his arrangements. Every time he tapped a new bundle, he would point to a corresponding price on his board. You noted that the man assumed you didn’t speak Polish. He thought you were a tourist - you’d fooled someone.

Each arrangement and even the singular buds had little cards. You picked up a yellow globe flower; to your surprise, you saw that it was actually called, 'globe flower’ in English. You looked at the tag and smiled at its supposed meaning. They smelled lovely, though you were sure it was the collective smell of the flowers that really struck you.

You pointed to the flower, and then to some neighboring Chrysanthemum. The man was quick to act and bundle your flowers. You didn’t need him to hurry, your feed was still disconnected. You wondered how worried you ought to be.

You were unaware of the man closing in on your location as you paid for the flowers. It was until you turned around, ready to saunter away that you spotted him, and he you.

Natasha had entered the plaza, head down, but alert. She knew the man was getting close. She wanted to run, but she knew that running would only give you away faster. You could still play dumb.

The man looking at you groaned as soon as he saw your face. Quickly, hoping he hadn’t offended you, the man put his hands out, palms up. He was American. “Sorry, I thought you were my wife. I lost her like fifteen minutes ago.”

“Oh,” you replied, pretending to care about this random man’s plight to find his rogue wife. “I hope you find her.”

He nodded as you navigated around him, towards the fountain once more. As you situated your flowers in your arm, you spotted a woman on a park bench, reading a newspaper. Next to her on the bench was a briefcase, the exact specially-made make, and model of your own briefcase.

You’d already stopped. You couldn’t stop to read a paper, it would look like you were finding reasons to stay in the plaza. There had to be something you could do to make the switch run smoothly. Your cover provided your answer. Natasha had called her, the woman you created for yourself, the type of woman that would appear in a made-for-tv romance film, and the type of woman to drop her groceries the moment she left the grocery store.

Natasha was behind you now, having seen you shake away the man who apparently, was just a lost husband. She didn’t make herself known. Once she knew you face no immediate threat, she decided to keep her distance. You were safe so long as she could see you. She may as well let you finish your mission.

You approached the bench and set your briefcase down next to the identical briefcase. You pretended to struggle with holding the flowers in a way that would keep them intact. With a frown, you fumbled with them long enough for the woman to stand up and take your briefcase. She left and that was half the work done. Miraculously you 'figured out’ how to hold the flowers the moment the woman was gone from your sight. So, you took the other briefcase and turned around.

It took great composure not to drop everything when you saw Natasha in the crowd ahead. How long had she been behind you, you wondered. Had the disconnect been a test? She wasn’t approaching you, instead, she was silently telling you that she’d meet you back at the van.

The moment you were together again, you frowned at her. “You didn’t trust me?”

“I never said that,” Natasha replied, knowing you had to be offended.

“But you were tailing me.”

“I saw that guy on the camera and I wanted to make sure you were safe.” You saw the honesty in her eyes. She had been concerned about you. In a twisted way, it made you feel special to see that she cared about your well-being.

Though they were in full view, you presented the flowers to Natasha. “I wanted to buy time so you had a chance to reconnect. I bought you some flowers,” you said. “The tags have little meanings on them. These represent strength and beauty.”

Natasha was quiet, not just quiet, you couldn’t even hear her breathe. You’d overstepped. You hadn’t tried to make her uncomfortable; you were acknowledging truth and offering your gratitude in the form of florals. Perhaps it came across as inappropriate, pushy even. You should have said you bought flowers for the sole purpose of buying time.

Before you could chastise yourself any further, Natasha was directly in front of you. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against yours. What likely took seconds, felt like endless. Her hands were cold when she placed them on either side of your face; she’d forgotten to grab gloves when she’d chased after you.

Gently, she pressed her lips to your forehead. You sighed and hoped it didn’t drip with longing - it did. Her lips were soft against your skin, softer than you’d imagined. As simple as it was, you hoped it would last forever.

“Then you should keep them.”

At first, it seemed like she was rejecting the flowers, and it made your wistful longing burn away in your veins. Someone else may have taken it as a compliment, but you felt like your gift had made Natasha uncomfortable.

Again, as if she knew the inner monologue in your head, she stopped your train of negative thinking. “But I want them, so I’ll keep them.” She offered you a cheeky wink. “Come on, we need to get that inside. And I’m pretty sure the tech is in there sitting in his own piss.”

You nodded and followed Natasha into the van. You would follow her anywhere, and now you knew, she would do the same for you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, I hope that you'll like it here and/or on Tumblr. It allows me to better know what you want to see going forward ✍️


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